


Silent Night

by Higgles123



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Angst, Bastogne, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Sadness, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgles123/pseuds/Higgles123
Summary: You and Malarkey always think of Bastogne when the winter comes.
Relationships: Donald Malarkey/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Silent Night

The fire was roaring, the flames dancing and casting silhouettes around the darkened room you sat in. You closed your eyes and in an instant you were back there.

_The ground beneath you was cold as was the air around you. Winter supplies were but a distant dream and despite Chuck and Tab doing their best to keep you warm, the cold had seeped through your skin and into your bones, freezing you from the outside in. You huffed out a laugh at something Tab said and you watched the dragon’s breath come from your mouth. When you were a child you would lift a rolled up piece of paper to your mouth and then breathe out the steam and pretend to be smoking, and now as you lifted a real cigarette to your lips with shaking hands you would have given anything to go back to that time. A time of simplicity when your biggest worry was getting to lick the creamy top from the milk bottle when it was delivered before your brother or sister could, or worrying if you were going to get the doll you had asked for on Christmas._

You felt the sofa sink beside you and you leaned into the familiar figure without opening your eyes. When you felt Don’s arm come around you, you let out a sigh.

_The incoming whistle was the only warning of the chaos that would ensue within the following seconds. The ground shook with the force of impact as the mortar shells exploded all around you and as the men prayed that their foxholes would be enough to keep them safe, all the while knowing that it was merely down to fate and not the hole they had dug in the cold, hard ground, you ran towards the shouts of ‘medic’ without fear for yourself. Afterwards when you used the snow to clean the blood of your comrades from your hands, you would allow yourself to think about how close to death you had come; how close one of those shells had landed._

_“You alright, Y/N?” Malarkey dropped down in the foxhole beside you._

_“Cold,” you muttered, staring ahead at nothing._

_When he yanked off his hat and placed it on your head you did nothing, nor when he took your hands and began to warm them up in his own. His warm, smokey breath was so hot against your cold skin that it almost hurt but still you did nothing; just tried not to think about the blood. So much blood. It was everywhere. Always._

_But then he brought your hands to his mouth and kissed each palm so tenderly. You finally looked at him then, wondering if his eyes had always looked upon you with such… what was that? It was more than softness. It was light and dark; happiness and sadness all at the same time._

“Don’t do it to yourself, Y/N,” Don kissed the top of your head.

“Don’t do what?” you asked, even though you knew.

“Think about it,” he murmured. “The whole war, not just Bastogne, took so much joy from us that it doesn’t deserve to take any more.”

_Muck and Penkala were gone. Nothing of them was left and their death hit Malarkey the hardest. Your heart broke for the loss of your friends but also for the raw palpable grief that encompassed Malarkey and was slowly eating away at him like a parasite. You slid down in the foxhole beside him and just sat with him, waiting for him to speak. You didn’t want to offer condolences and apologies for his loss because you knew he wouldn’t want them._

_“They loved you, you know,” he mumbled, so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear him._

_“I loved them too,” you whispered, a solitary tear trailing down your cheek._

_Don took your hand, just as he had a couple of weeks before and you squeezed it, intertwining your fingers with his and feeling something almost warm in your chest. You looked at him; the auburn fluff on his face and the red tip of his cold nose and you tried to remember if your heart had always raced this way when you gazed at him._

_“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” he looked at you now, his eyes watching you intently. “Muck and Penkala were always ribbing me because I was never brave enough to tell you how I feel, and I promised them just hours before that shell hit their foxhole that I’d tell you. So now I need to tell you and keep my promise.”_

_“Tell me what?” you frowned. “You know you can always tell me anything, Don, don’t you?”_

_“I know,” he nodded, taking a shaky breath. “But this isn’t easy to say. Y/N, I love you. And not just like how I loved Muck and Penkala. I love you like Gonorrhoea loves Frannie or how Welsh loves Kitty. I’m in_ _love with you, and I know you probably don’t feel the same but I realise now more than ever that in a split second one of us could be gone and I might never get the chance to tell you.”_

_You were speechless; a rarity that all of the boys could confirm. Your cold hand cupped Don’s cheek and you smiled before pressing your lips against his in a butterfly of a kiss. He looked almost horrified and you laughed before you could help yourself which made him chuckle as well; the grief leaving his face momentarily to be replaced with that almost child like wonder you were used to._

_“Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted._

_“And there was me thinking you looked so disgusted because it was a terrible kiss,” you smirked._

_“I don’t like to kiss and tell,” he pretended to grimace uncomfortably. “But maybe you should go and find Perconte and ask to borrow his toothbrush.”_

_You nudged Malarkey playfully and he grinned before pulling you in for another kiss, only this time it was languid and teasing. It was full of promises and feelings that couldn’t be expressed with words._

“Do you think they’ve forgotten about it?”

“Who?”

“Muck and Penkala,” you clarified. “Wherever they are, do you think they still feel the cold like I can when I close my eyes?”

Malarkey swallowed and you could see his bottom lip tremble ever so slightly before he looked at you.

“Nah,” he shook his head, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Wherever they are, they never feel the cold. It’s always sunny and they’re always happy.”

You nodded, hoping with all of your heart that it was true. When Malarkey’s hand reached down to cradle your growing stomach, you placed your own hand over his just as the baby inside of you made its presence known with a gentle kick. Sometimes you felt so guilty being happy with the man you loved when so many others never came home from war and never got the chance to live the lives they deserved. You knew that Don felt the same even if he didn’t say it out loud. It was like a chain that all of you who had survived wore around your ankle; a constant reminder that you were the lucky ones who somehow didn’t deserve the luck you had been rewarded with.

Every winter for the rest of your life, you knew that when the first flurries of snow fell from the sky you would think of Bastogne and its horrors. But you would also think of that night when Malarkey declared his love for you while he battled the raw emotions of grief in his heart. And as the radio played Christmas carols, you closed your eyes as Malarkey pressed his lips against your stomach and sang to his unborn baby, you sent up a silent prayer to the sky.

To Muck and Penkala, and all of the others that Easy lost, you prayed with all of your heart that they were celebrating Christmas wherever they were. You prayed that one day when you were old and grey, you could celebrate with them once more.

_“Silent night, holy night_

_All is calm, all is bright_

_'Round yon virgin Mother and Child_

_Holy infant so tender and mild_

_Sleep in heavenly peace_

_Sleep in heavenly peace”_


End file.
